Death Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Myth may it be, or be it man's blind faith,
A rehearsal perfecting dance of death,
Life is death; death is every passing breath.

A cosmic law—death is fortuitous fate
For a fresh new life with a fresh new date
For one more dance of destiny in wait!

Be it a fruit, a flower, or a fly,
Man or matter, notso can death defy,
Are not all things destined one day to die?

With his morbid phobia man stands alone,
Is he scared of death or of fate unknown?
Does not life come, seed of death duly sown?

And Death, not just a balm to every pain,
End of every suffering, every strain,
A sunny rainbow should perchance it rain!

And what dies is raiment worn out and old,
Death delivers a new garment of gold,
God-given gift is death for a fresh mould.

Let it what be, death's no devil so grim,
Nor is life a poet's pet theme, nor dream,
A golden chance is death to rise like cream.
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Musings | 07.02.07 |